


Me, Myself and My Mistletoe

by spnsmile



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexual Dean Winchester, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean Winchester, Canon Universe, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, Crack Treated Seriously, Curses, Deepthroating, Dorks in Love, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Forehead Kisses, Happy Ending, Hurt Dean Winchester, Idiots in Love, Inappropriate Humor, Kissing, Love, M/M, Mistletoe, Neck Kissing, One Big Happy Family, Overprotective Castiel (Supernatural), Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Rough Kissing, Sexual Humor, Shameless Smut, Smut, True Love, True Love's Kiss, Witches, christmas case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:28:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21984436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spnsmile/pseuds/spnsmile
Summary: Dean Winchester growing a literal mistletoe on his head is what everyone needs for Christmas. A curse that can only be lifted by a kiss but the hunter won’t let Castiel near. Everyone else takes a laugh out of Dean but Castiel is certainly not amused. How to remove the dick-sprig?Trope: Under the Mistletoe
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 10
Kudos: 110





	Me, Myself and My Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my final SPNTC Christmas trope: Under the Mistletoe!  
> Poor Dean^^ But Cas got him! Mistletoe curses and smuts in the end!  
> Enjoy!

“I ain’t touching _that_.” Dean says flatly, arms crossed above his chest as he stares guardedly at the old sprig sitting on the floor. It’s wet and charcoaled, like molten crust then splattered with rotten peanut butter. Except Dean’s sure the jar he knocked over is empty, so where the hell did this thing come from?

“Better not touch it.” He warns Sam too, who comes running in the room looking alarmed.

“What happened?” Sam looks at him, then the sprig in relief.

“Singing in the rain in the storage.” Dean says through gritted teeth, swallowing. “Uh... Why don’t you get rid of it for me, Sammy?” he adds with a step backward.

“Why aren’t you moving?”

“Dude, I’m not going to tap dance my way out when there’s a Sprig of Satan on the floor from section C. What if I release friggin Cleopatra? No, sue me. J-just get the broom or get the pest control— _clean it_!”

“Dean, why are you so nervous?” Sam bends a knee to look at the object closely without touching the wet floor. He gets a good look at the label, before getting on his feet again and staring at Dean. The hunter is looking queasy, almost on tiptoes.

“206.” Sam says, pertaining to the number under the large piece of shard. “You sure it’s from the C section?”

“As sure as I am going to whip your ass if you tell anyone how I…” Dean chews his lips to stop himself when he catches the look on his brother’s face.

Sam’s eyes are twinkling and knowing the score between them, the jerk is just waiting for the chance to fuck with him about how he screamed his lungs out for Sam to well, _hear_ him.

Sam presses a small smile. Dean bristles.

“You could’ve called me on your phone.”

“I was cleaning a storage room full of potential mummy curses and human-eating- bugs, y’think I’ll bring phone-wallet-keys here? Last time I walked around, I got boils on my ass!”

Sam rolls his eyes and begins edging to the door.

“Fine. I’ll go check the catalogues then to see if it’s anything dangerous. The label said _Risk_ , so that should mean you’re still gonna survive. It’s only a fig from an ancient tree, but you’re right, since it’s here in the storage, we can’t be too careful. Better get your ass off the shelves before you awaken another herbal pagan god and unleash it’s wrath on Christmas day.”

“H-hey, where are you going?” Dean frantically calls back, and no he did not just _squeak._

Sam turns sideways with a frown. “I just told you I’m gonna check the catalogues—”

“What about me?” Dean swallows. “I ain’t movin from here with that thing on the floor!”

Sam stares from him to the dark sprig currently holding his brother hostage, then to his brother. Dean tries not to shift on his feet, but he’s been there ten minutes and he wants out. Why is his _all- long_ - _in-everything_ brother so fucking horrible and slow today?

“Dean, it’s an inanimate object.”

“Yeah, chuckles, _Chucky was supposed to be inanimate!”_

“Just walk around the splatter, get it over with. If that doesn’t work for you, I’m going to call Cas. I’m sure your angel boyfriend can sweep you off your feet and help you clean up.” Sam exits with a teasing smile, his long legs covering the space in three strides, leaving Dean disgruntled. But he did feel a little relief flood in him.

Right. He has an angel on his side. That eased him up a bit but Dean scowls at the sprig.

The Men of Letters storage room is basically where they keep all the shadiest objects under record. Categorized from Risk, Threat to Potential Armageddon, the Winchesters have decided never to mess with any object, always careful when they make quick trips to look for counter curses or poisons, because hey, the most effective cures are _poison_.

Today is no different, except the jar being totally a dickhead when Dean accidentally knocked it over. He jumps out of the way when the glass shatters, but the murky splash got on his jeans and Dean’s not particularly a clean-freak like Sammy, but he’s got issues with disgusting object. The jar filled with water looking like piss with human stool inside? Definitely labeled a _menace._

The sprig is surrounded by shards of the broken pot. Dean braces his elbows feeling suddenly cold. Does he wait for Cas here? Will he risk the amused look in the angel’s blue eyes when he finds Dean trapped in the storage room with an ugly looking tree fig?

Dean curses himself and slowly makes his way around the broken glasses on tiptoes. He ain’t gonna get touch with it again. He manages to reach the door with all the hair in his body on end, and once his foot is on the hallway, he takes one look at ugly sprig, then shuts the door on it before sprinting away.

Cas’ smile is cute, but they’re not having conversation about Dean and his issues with friggin twigs.

Dean arrives in the library in time to stop Sam from calling the angel. He points at Sam because Castiel is already on the phone, then runs to the bathroom to take a shower. They had a very uneventful supper after that with Sam informing him the sprig is from the Celts and meant for good luck and that it actually is a mistletoe. Dean grimaces.

Mistletoes are his thing, until they turn into dark human excretes that swam in ancient piss. He shakes his head before he feels nauseous again. Cas says he’ll come around tomorrow morning. Not that Cas is supposed to clean Dean’s mess, but Cas got more knowledge on things than anything, Dean’s sure Cas wouldn’t mind stepping on little tiny evil twigs.

Relaxing at the thought plus the idea that tomorrow Cas is returning, Dean enjoyed his robust steak. He’s sure by tomorrow, his funny human brain will forget about everything that happened today.

And hey, it’s just a few days before Christmas!

* * *

The next morning, Dean wakes up feeling rather heavy and uncomfortable. There’s a pounding vein on the side of his head, his stomach all acid and growling. He swallows hard feeling like the Sahara Desert just popped in his throat, his lungs the entire space that needs filling of air. His back is damp from sweat and all he wants to do is bury his face on the wet surface of his pillow. He aches all over.

Damn, he feels like he’s coming down with something.

Dean inhales rather haggardly. He strains on breathing for some time before opening his eyes. Even his eyelids are hot and heavy. He grunts and turns his face to the ceiling, hissing as his cold back presses on the warm mattress. Is he back in hell?

He blinks his blurry eyes. The wane light of his room comes into focus. Dean breathes hard trying to gain composure. He feels hot and terribly dry.

It takes a moment for his head to figure out the body wants to sit up. Sit up he did. Dean moans at the heaviness of his head. He hauls his body up, then stares blankly on the sheets sprawled on his legs. Feeling thick and disoriented, he looks to the wall, then the door.

He needs to go drink water, maybe even ask Sam for cold medicine. If he gets lucky maybe he’ll find his legs more cooperative than his arms. It takes a moment, then Dean realizes he’s imagining his legs to move because they don’t. Grumbling, he drives his thick skull to move it. He inches on the edge of the bed, succeeding on putting both feet on the floor.

He starts his arduous journey to the corridor

“Sammy?” Dean croaks pitifully from the kitchen doorway. “A little help?”

Sam and Eileen turn from the table eating spoonful of mashed potato on a cannister. They look cute together, Dean will give them that, and he’d tease them how they look like octopi, except his legs are jellies.

The moment Sam’s eyes fall on him, his brother’s eyes widen while Eileen gasps and the cannister slips from their hands. Dean watches in slow motion how the mash potato went _splat_ on the floor.

“Dean…” Sam says, inching towards him uncertainly, “ _What’s that on your head?”_

_My gooey brain._

Dean squints because Sam is giving him a hell of a shock look enough to alarm him.

“Why?” he cranes his neck to any mirror and remembers there’s one on the bathroom but that feels like miles away. Eileen saves him the trouble when she takes a square mirror from the top of the fridge and turns it on his face.

The same face looks back, a little pale and buggy eyed, but still adorable. There’s also a twig—no, a full green dick sprig— dancing on his head which roots down his hair.

Dean would have screamed, except his voice is all hoarse and he’s so tired all he can do is stare blankly, feeling horrified and all shitty emotions possible. The exact horror-struck his reflection is giving him.

Right. Now is really the time to be nauseous.

* * *

“So, get this,” Sam says while dumping a load of binders on the library table with his left hand, holding one with his right and reading, “it says here The Men of Letters acquired the jar around 1950’s from a trade with the British Men of Letters. They tried to keep its origin, but I recognize this emblem, it’s obviously a signet mark of Queen Victoria, so it’s from the Royal family. Apparently, it was originally a shamrock offered by the Queen to Irish guards in the 1900s during the Boer wars and used to symbolize her support to the Irish green. The Irish guards would then bear the ‘honor’ to wear it on their headgears to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day carried on to this day.”

Sam looks over to Dean who sits on the couch with mouth hanging open. He is wrapped in thick blanket with his dark hoody on his head. He insisted on pulling the sprig at the beginning. Panic stricken, Dean tugged on the fig with all his might back in the kitchen, except the action had him crying in pain too. Sam helped him, even dug in his brother’s hair only to find out it’s attached on the scalp, probably even Dean’s skull.

Dean did not collapse on his brother and wake up ten seconds later. Sam has already called Rowena. Like a true sport, the powerful witch is already in the kitchen brewing whatever smelly stuff she’s got with Eileen assisting her.

The Winchester brothers are left by the library because when in a pickle and doubt with a fig on one’s head— _you fucking go to the library._

“Does it say how to remove this unicorn tail?” Dean says roughly, red eyes on his brother. He is considerably calm. It must be the water Sam gave him, but he’s feeling much better. He hopes Eileen would bring the jug of beer he requested.

“Not yet, that’s why we got Rowena on board.”

“She said she’ll _think of something._ She barely even breathed when she saw what’s on my head. Didn’t even touch it, did she? She knows it’s cursed enough not to come near.”

“Of course, she knows. She’s Rowena and she’s doing what she can, alright, and you better lie down and rest. I don’t want you collapsing again.” Sam turns back on the binder and begins flipping pages, “They included here how they traced it all over Europe before the British Men of Letters took custody of it. They found the sprig actually came from an ancient oak tree of the Druids. How the Royal family got a hold of that they can only guess… but looking at its history… it messed up one Irish soldier’s life, but no death toll, so I guess that’s a breather.”

“Sure.” Dean gives a mocking smile. “Absolutely peachy. Ever thought about what’ll happen if I can’t remove this ‘thing’?”

“You know Dean, you could do worse. It’s only a sprig, and wearing a hoody actually covers it. You didn’t turn into a bat or grow fangs or boils in your face, you should feel lucky.”

“ _I have a damn tree on my head!”_

Sam sighs heavily and drops the binder on the table. Dean grunts and tucks himself deeper on the blanket. He watches Sam take his phone out and begins messaging someone. Dean wonders if it’s Cas. He wants to ask where Cas is. His phone is in his room and he’s not gonna be a sick-dick to ask Eileen to get it. Sam’s got his nose buried in books and he can’t mentally will his mobile to materialize on his hand. So, he endures.

“What happened to the Irish soldier?” he asks dully.

Sam hesitates. Dean can see it and it gets his stomach swirling.

“Turned to a tree, didn’t he?”

Sam chuckles. “No, he uh… he got sent to the hospital that’s where the BML found him. His case it’s quite supernatural—”

“Yeah, cause growing a tree on your head is normal—”

“Point is he was isolated in the hospital, people fearing it’s contagious—”

“I’m surprised they didn’t shoot him on the spot. _I would.”_

“Things got messy and they had to sedate him.”

“Did he start killing people?” Dean sits up with eyes large and round. Sam senses his alarm and shakes his head at once. Dean doesn’t know when his heartbeat would fail him.

“No. He made scenes in the hospital, then later on got taken in by the hunters around November. Somehow the BML managed to extract the sprig and kept it in their facility. But the soldier didn’t die before his time, Dean. He also didn’t kill people. There are no other records of his life, but the registered death here is after thirty-five full years. He lived a life after being cursed. That’s why BML labeled it risk. Maybe it’s mostly the victim who got—”

“— _miserable_.” Dean muttered, bracing his arms around his knees with eyebrows furrowed, “and ugly.”

Sam puts both his hands on his hips, lecture on his lips when they heard the metal doors creak open from above. Dean cranes his neck to look pass his brother who’s also turned to see the newcomer.

Castiel descends on the metal stairs, trench coat whipping on his wake. He walks with purpose, swift and lithe. His blue eyes fall sharply on Sam the moment he steps into the main threshold with thin lips pressed in obvious concern.

“Sam—” the angel starts because he can’t see Dean pass those broad shoulders, “where’s Dean—?”

 _“Cas!”_ Dean practically blubbers from the couch because no, his heart didn’t just surge into energetic pumping like it’s on horse race. He also did not just have an instinctive notion of raising his arms like how a kid would do when they see their parents. Cas is not his fucking parent. _Cas is his boyfriend, the guy he’s been fucking and fucking him_ because Dean is allowed to have those. Allowed himself to, really. Ten years of tortured pining and arguing, and Cas is still with him in the end?

Dean is a practical person and when his mind finally registered the angel is not going anywhere, that’s when it clicks. Realized what an idiot he is. Love confession that tragically end with Dean almost eating his words, but Cas is on board and what follows is a relationship Dean never realized he needed. He craved. Castiel is his.

Dean nearly stumbles, his weak jelly legs hindering the macho vision of himself showing the angel he can manage himself. No matter, Cas is there beside him in seconds, catching him with strong arms on his shoulders. Dean struggles to keep up, shaking fists holding tightly on the trench coat lapel. He didn’t realize how much, just how much he needed Cas now. Every limb of his body is screaming for the angel’s embrace, heart aching at the thought of letting go. He does his best not to whimper when Castiel understood what he wanted to happen. Castiel eases him back on the couch, then sat beside Dean. Dean doesn’t care if Sam is watching, he heaves himself on Cas’ lap and buries his nose on the crook of the angel’s neck, just inhaling.

It’s clearing his head somehow. He wonders if the sprig is turning him into a kind of horny animal that needs his prey. No matter. Cas doesn’t let go either.

“Dean?” Cas whispers on his ear. Dean can feel him trying to move back to get a better look of him. Dean pulls the angel, shaking his head.

“Don’t look.” Dean warns him huskily, face deep on the angel’s side. “I’m a _shrub_.”

Castiel exchanges wordless question to Sam who’s watching his brother tenderly.

“He’s been having a rough day.”

* * *

Half an hour later finds Dean still on Castiel’s arm but less conspicuous. At least his ass is back down the couch. Castiel is beside him, supporting his shoulders, arm tight around the hunter’s shoulder, waiting for Rowena’s verdict while she stirs a pumpkin color concoction on the soup bowl. Eileen and Sam are watching her.

Cas stuck with Dean the entire time, Dean’s head leaning on his shoulder. The angel was pissed enough to see his grace was not working on Dean so he sits perfectly still, teeth on edge and glaring at everything in silence.

“It’s gonna be fine, Cas.” Dean pats Castiel’s right hand clutching on the hunter’s right knee. “Nothin like a good ol curse to end the year, right?” he gives the angel a cheeky smile.

Castiel doesn’t. He _glares._

“I fail to see what you find in this amusing. You’re hurting and you’re cold—”

“No so bad—" Dean mumbles, but Castiel’s puts pressure on his thigh with a flash of warning on his eyes.

“Don’t. It’s bad enough that you’re in pain without telling me you’re fine. I would rather you keep your strength, Dean.”

Castiel’s not angry. He’s disappointed for some reason. Dean would have asked him if he did not see Rowena finally removing the stirring rod and carefully pouring the pumpkin stuff on the bowl still simmering from the pot. 

Dean grimaces. He hates medicines. He especially hates this witch-made stuff because he knows what they are made from. Ingredients like toads and snails, even tongues can really work the appetite.

Castiel suddenly brushes his palm on Dean’s forehead sensing his apprehension. The angel carefully avoiding touching the hood because Dean is still sensitive about it. He silently plants a warm kiss on top of Dean’s head. Dean gives him a funny look, catching the rolling thunder deep on the calm blue but the angel just smiles.

“ _Samuel, if a hair strand of yours falls on this potion, you don’t want to know what happens to your brother.”_ Rowena’s light accent calls their attention back to earth. Dean sits right up looking sick.

_“Back off, Sammy! I ain’t eatin any slice of you!”_

Rowena gracefully turns to Dean and hands him the bowl. Castiel reaches out to support Dean’s hands under. “Bottoms up, dear and then you’re going to put the hood down.”

Dean grimaces but doesn’t argue. He’s not gonna argue with a witch who’s possibly the only one capable of helping him. He puts his lips on the lid, crinkling his nose at the pungent smell of rotten fruit and old socks before drinking.

Dean nearly gags. It’s sticky and leaves an aftertaste in his mouth but he soldiers through, knowing it’s the only thing that can stop him becoming Grandmother Willow and singing his colors of the wind out. He swears if this doesn’t work, he will never go out of the Bunker again. So, for the sake of saving the world, he stops breathing and takes everything in a gulp.

Sam and the rest watch Dean intently. He finishes the contents, Castiel handing the bowl back to the witch while Dean wipes the side of his mouth with a twist on his face.

_“Disgusting.”_

All eyes are on the fig for a few seconds. Then minutes. It doesn’t even twitch. Castiel reaches out carefully to it but Dean shakes his head. “It’s not working, Red.”

The only solace is the witch not looking distressed at all.

“Well, it’s not like it’s meant to just _go away_. You have to finish the ritual.” Rowena says with patience not to roll her eyes at the back of her head, “So we have nothing here except a Winchester under another curse. But it’s not gonna be as excruciating as you think it is, and not like there’d be anything we need, it’s a mistletoe. You already got the most important ingredient right beside you.” her long lashes flicker from Dean to Castiel, “Ugh, you won’t understand the envy I’m feeling right now? But you’re lucky you weren’t exposed to a Klip Dagga. Klip Digga doesn’t even wait for true love’s kiss as of Mistletoes. They just put you in eternal relaxation, you’d never feel anything at all, no excitement, no libido. No erection, nothing. But you’ve always been lucky, dear. So hurry up, don’t be shy.”

She looks pointedly at the couple who both stared blankly at her.

In unison-

_“What?”_

_“What do you mean!”_

“Kiss.” She said, eyebrows shooting up while Castiel and Dean stare back at her stupidly. At least Dean did. Castiel looked a bit more thoughtful. Sam seems to grasp the meaning and he stares at his brother and the angel with an alarmed look. Eileen is shaking her head. Rowena finally, _finally rolls_ her eyes.

“You boys deal with everything but never found solution in _true love’s kiss_?” she asks

Dean barks laughter that choked him in the end. Castiel rubs his back, still looking at the witch his expression outright straight.

“You mean we just kiss and this sprig will disappear?”

“That is the idea.”

Dean coughs in between the silence, face burning.

“But?” Sam asks skeptically.

“But nothing, Samuel.”

“I don’t believe that. This is a curse and there’s no such thing as easy happy endings.”

Rowena smiles. “You’ve learnt a lot from my son.”

 _“Red! Get to the point!”_ Dean barks, couple with more rattling coughs.

Her eyes rounded in disbelief as if they’re insisting one plus one is eleven.

“The point is it’s a _Mistletoe_! Don’t you bareback hunters know what a mistletoe is? Hang around the old door, waiting for the perfect moment, then mouthful of mouths? Meant for lovers even the Celtics revere it.”

“We just kiss?” Dean grunts, frowning. Rowena heaves a sigh and turns to Eileen.

“How you survive this virile three is beyond me, dear. I wouldn’t be surprised—no base with my Samuel, yet?”

“Hey!” Sam stands straight, indignant but the witch’s eyes are all on Dean.

“It’s _not_ just a _kiss,_ Dean. A True Love’s Kiss, you’ve no idea how many of us in covens delight at cursing people just to watch them kiss their _true love_ then nothing happens? Oh, believe me, half the curses some witches made are done only to test couples and once kissing happens they don’t work, we lift the curse, but leave relationships irreparable. Broken. I mean, that’s the whole point. See if True Love exists. _What’s the issue, dear? Holding back on your man?_ You boys just do it and everything will be back to normal. Well, not really normal, it’s a Druid curse. I senses the magic and since it’s an ancient witch who casted it I expect once you kiss your True Love you will be bound forever—bit more on possessiveness, but you already have that going on for you two, and yes, I think it’s a literal ownership that will tie you on each other’s fate so… _kiss_ ” She claps her hand.

_“No.”_

Castiel blinks, then spins his head to Dean. Sam, Eileen and Rowena also regard Dean with jaw slacking and open mouths. Dean clenches his jaw, his hand pressing hard on Castiel for a moment, before he removes them.

“Dean, what?” Sam veers his eyes from his brother, then to the angel who remains silently watching Dean. Dean shakes away from Castiel and plasters himself at the end of the couch. His eyebrows are contracted, his lips curl, green eyes set and looking determined.

“I ain’t kissing Cas.”

* * *

“C’mon, Ketch, there must be some other record about this Celtic Mistletoe somewhere in your archives. Our record isn’t exactly detailed how the Irish guy got to live or what happens to anyone unable to remove the sprig. You gotta help us here, Ketch.”

 _“Of course, Sam. But I’m telling you, the archives for trades between the British and Americans have long been erased by my superiors who do not want any entanglements with your roguish ways. Or even remotely acknowledge the fact we have any associations with you. Naturally, I have to still keep myself from being traced out, but I will do what I can. Also… really a Mistletoe that can be lifted by a true love’s kiss? You Winchesters sure are having it easy with me hunting vampires. What you say we find what happens on Boxing Day after?”_ Ketch smirks on the screen on Sam’s phone.

“Drop it, Ketch.”

_“I understand. But I thought Halo is there to provide the necessary action. He and Dean are still…?”_

Sam looks over his shoulder to his brother. Dean is still at his end of the couch, both feet now on the chair. He has his arms wrapped around his knees, head on his arms. The sprig sadly hangs on his head. Castiel is on the opposite end, both feet on the floor, hands clasped on his lap and staring at Dean and Dean alone. He hasn’t blinked as far as Sam can remember.

_“Oh? So they’re having lovers quarrel, are they? Why? The first kiss didn’t work out?”_

“They haven’t done anything about it. Dean won’t let Cas.”

_“Oh? That’s an interesting turn of event. You do know this sprig doesn’t actually require True Love’s Kiss?”_

Sam blinks. “What?”

_“Of course, this is only my theory. It’s a Mistletoe, hang around heads to make people mandatorily kiss. I believe as long as the other person holds the affection it should work out. Didn’t the sultry witch tell you that?”_

Sam now looks at Rowena who is beaming guiltily opposite him on the chair with Eileen beside her. Sam also feels Castiel’s stare because being an angel, he can hear everything.

“Okay, we’ll check on that. But if Dean’s still adamant about this, I don’t think he’ll still let Cas kiss him. I don’t know everything, but I know my brother. Once Dean found out he has to share ‘fate’ with Cas, he just kind of shut down.”

_“Oh, then whoever else Dean holds affection to ought to do it. Someone who he doesn’t care to share an ill-fate you mean?”_

“Maybe. Look, Ketch, we gotta talk about this. I think Rowena has something to say.” Sam hangs up and gives the red witch a narrowed look. She blinks innocently back.

“Oh, c’mon, Samuel! If I’d told Dean that, you think he can keep his hands off me?”

“Anything just to remove that awful fig on his head, but we’re not really lacking options here.” Sam begins messaging on his phone, “Dean maybe a dick, and he’s a compulsive people-pusher. But he’s damn good in making people love him unconsciously.”

Thirty minutes later…

“I gotta— _what_?!” Dean growls now sitting properly with dark circles under his eyes as he stares at Sam, and then the troupe standing shoulder to shoulder with him. On the beeline comes Charlie, Jody, Donna, Garth only too happy to be there, even Claire. Eileen and Rowena have found their way in the kitchen preparing everyone lunch.

“I swear, I did no come here to kiss the old man.” Claire declares with a triumphant smile on her cheeky lips, “I just want to see the fig and Dean struggling to kiss Jody.”

“Kid, told you wait in the car.” Jody rolls her eyes. “And I’m here to see Donna do it.”

“Is it okay if I get a picture?” Donna clicks her phone. “I want to keep a memento of the effing fig too. And the kiss, yeah, that I hella don’t mind.” She winks at him.

Dean clamps his palm on his hoody still covering his head. It’s seriously getting out of hand. “Okay, you’ve had your laugh, just _stop.”_

“Oh, you’re going to so owe me for this, bitch.” Charlie says almost with a grimace, but she steps up enthusiastically anyway, “Not like you’d be snatching any of my first.”

“Okay, _hold on!”_ Dean bellows at Sam, “I’m kissing nobody here! Cas, help up!”

He glares at Castiel who’s found himself standing by the wall, leaning with arms crossed on his chest, ankles crisscrossed. He did not say anything, he hasn’t said anything and did not even give Dean a reply.

“Dean,” Sam says exasperatedly, “I’m doing everything I can here. You don’t want to kiss Cas, but there are other people who’re willing to kiss you. Ketch said it doesn’t matter as long as the other hold the affection and seriously—that’s all you and I think these people—”

“You think I’d be cursing any of them with me too!?”

“That’s not it!"

"You don’t need to call these many people!” he shakes his vehemently, perspiration all over his forehead. Garth nods with arms crossed.

“Yeah, dude, I mean if it’s about love, you have Sam too, don’t you?”

Dean gives Sam a very long look, making his brother jump and holler in his face.

_“Dude! I am not kissing you!”_

_“You think I’d enjoy that too, jerk!? You think I like a dick-sprig on my head?!"_

_“Stop bitching, Dean! Why don’t you kiss Castiel then?”_

Castiel politely keeps a vacant face.

“Your frigging fig is twitching, Dean.” Claire points out, staring in surprise.

Dean did not notice but his hoody has fallen back, revealing the sprightlier Mistletoe bouncing up like sun rising from the East. All the eyes fall on his head, wide-eyed and awestruck.

Dean hisses and tries to reach for his hood but he’s too agitated he only kept tugging on the clothing with shaking hands.

“Alright, circus is over! _Go away!_ ” he snarls.

He sees Jody and Donna exchange looks. Sees Charlie blink several times before looking at Sam, asking for their next move while Garth steps behind the taller Winchester. Claire seems unable to pull her eyes away.

Dean didn’t mean to sound rude, but it’s getting on his nerves. But he didn’t mean to, honest to all gods he didn’t mean to be rude but they’re all staring and he can’t seem to pull the hood properly back.

Castiel’s there, covering his shaking hands with his own steady ones. He stands in front of Dean, unreadable face, back on the others and keeping Dean from sight as he gently pulls the hood back up to Dean’s head.

“Sam.”

That’s all Castiel needed to say.

Sam doubles to the others looking apologetic as he leads them to the kitchen, leaving the two a moment to themselves. Dean leans his head on Castiel’s stomach with his eyes close while his angel decidedly stands staunch, hands on the hunter’s shoulders. The calming presence of the angel has Dean taking deep breathes and soon he’s calming down. He doesn’t move from the position. Castiel seems inclined to stay like a statue with him, rubbing the blades of his shoulder soothingly. Dean doesn’t deserve this. He fucking doesn’t deserve anything not from those people—his friends, his family—Cas.

So it’s a surprise why he is curling his arms on Castiel’s waist and pulling him close. He feels guilty enough, but he buries his face on the angel’s torso anyway, feeling all kinds of conflicted emotions. Nothing about this feels real, the sprig, the pain. But Castiel feels sturdy, feels real. Dean presses his cheeks deeper, Cas’ button up shirt marking on his face. Dean gulps. He just wants to melt and remember nothing of the day.

After a moment, Castiel strokes his head. Dean bites his lip, cowering.

“I’m not kissing nobody of them, Cas.” He mumbles, pulling the angel closer.

“I know, Dean.”

“I ain’t kissing you either.”

A short pause.

“I know Dean.”

“Sorry.” He sighs heavily. He’s fucking all this up and it’s few days to Christmas. Way to go Winchester, he tells himself. There’s a prickle of pain all over his body but he doesn’t tell anyone that. He has Cas on his arms. Gently, Castiel lifts Dean’s chin up with the slightest pressure so their eyes meet. Dean will never understand how Cas can look at him so softly like that.

“I think we should join everyone in the kitchen, Dean. You owe them an apology.”

“For not kissing them?” Dean smiles is small, but it’s enough to bring twinkle in the angel’s blue hues. Castiel nods, though his eyes narrow.

“Not about the kiss.”

“Yeah, about me being an asshole.”

“Would you need help in standing up? I also think you need to eat… you look weary enough for me, Dean. Let’s just feed you first and worry about the rest later.

“Yeah, thanks, Cas.”

When Dean stands up, Castiel is there beside him for support. Cas is also there when he stood in the middle of the kitchen and apologized for his behavior. Some just rolls their eyes including Sam while Charlie and Donna giggle on the corner because the officer _recorded_ the whole apology scene.

In the end, the afternoon ended with Dean feeling much lighter with his shoulder next to Castiel. He ate as much as he could, not realizing how hungry he’s been. After an hour, with the table still excitable, Dean whispers to Castiel, then exits the kitchen. When he comes in his room alone, he collapses and curls on his stomach.

That’s when the pain actually begins.

* * *

Castiel stares at the demon the moment he opens the Bunker door. Crowley is all demon-smile on his face. It was past eight in the evening when the demon came knocking on their doorway when most of their visitors have gone home.

“I heard the news, it’s all enticing really. Don’t worry, I come with gifts.”

“What d’you want, Crowley?”

“Dean.” Crowley looks over Castiel’s shoulder with twinkle in his eyes. Castiel mostly doesn’t like the look on his smug face, but he doesn’t like it any better when the Demon King says Dean’s name with that sly grin on his face either.

“Why?”

“I told you I got ears. It has come to my attention that he is in need of I daresay—an affectionate nip.” Crowley licks his lips. Castiel glowers. “And since he won’t accept you because of the _all-too—heroic-don’t-want-to-damage-my-angel-kink_ , I don’t mind sacrificing my lips—”

Castiel shuts the door and makes sure to double check the demon repelling symbols in the Bunker. When the next time he opens it and sees an unfamiliar face of a man, this time Castiel stops. He looks at the short guy with stubbles across his jaw who’s pressing on his mobile phone. He looks up around Castiel and smiles.

“Yes?” Cas asks.

“Oh, Sam’s expecting me.” The man said, offering a hand, “You must be Castiel. Dean’s told me all about you. Hard not to associate the trench coat.” He grips Castiel’s hand while the angel looks at him oddly. “I’m Aaron Bass. Is Dean here?”

Castiel snapping his eyes behind him to Sam who makes a point of pressing his lips apologetically while he talks to Aaron is all Castiel needs before disappearing inside the corridors and guard Dean’s door like a possessed sentry.

He generally likes humans. Aaron? He’ll need to have a word with Sam later. The angel stalks the bunker for the rest of the night, even waiting for Dean to call for him but the hunter never did. He spends most of his time standing outside Dean’s room, or hanging around the kitchen waiting for Dean, because it’s Dean’s routine to scavenge the kitchen in the middle of the night, but the hunter never did. Sam never showed himself and no shadow of this Aaron is found in the Bunker again.

Silently, Castiel waits for that prayer in agony. 

When he sees Dean the next morning, the angel is too unhappy to touch his coffee. Dean still has the fig dancing on his head. The conversation is stale, even if it was two days before Christmas. Sam talks to Dean a lot, about what possibilities could happen if the sprig remains, and what Ketch has been giving him about the curse. It doesn’t seem threatening at the moment, but Sam suggests they still _try._ Dean looks disheveled by the third day, Castiel barely left his side on the table. He gets more worried because the hunter just stares on the wall. He told Dean he’ll accompany him to his room but the hunter’s blatant refusal almost has the angel walking out of the room.

It’s not like he’s gonna do anything to Dean that Dean doesn’t like.

A day before Christmas, the hunter doesn’t hide the fig under his hood anymore. Be it Dean getting used to it, or getting done enough to care, it just _hangs._ There’s a running joke on the chatroom where Sam updates Donna and the rest of Dean sulking with the Mistletoe still hanging on his forehead with no kiss on his way. Castiel doesn’t find it a little bit funny.

Dean becomes obviously thinner. Cas and Sam urge him to eat more which he complied to their relief.

When Rowena drops by that afternoon, she was alarmed enough to send Dean back in his room. She demands to have a closer look on his fig and quickly tells

“I was clumsy. I thought by now Dean would be all over Castiel but ha, what did I expect! Why aren’t you the aggressive one in this?” Castiel doesn’t say anything so she shakes her head. “I should have told you lot earlier, that Mistletoe is from an ancient oak tree known as Phoradendron. Meaning? It’s a tree thief.”

“I know that.” Castiel says quietly, still giving the witch an inquisitive look.

“Then you should know it’s that type that steals from the host? A parasite. It’s basically draining Dean of his energy I’m sure by the next time I come here, he’ll be Garth the Fifth. He won’t even last on New Year.”

“But they said no one dies from it!” Sam exclaims looking stricken.

“No one has died from it because no one’s neglected the solution like Dean has! Your brother is an idiot, Samuel and you ought to point that to his face.”

“He knows.” Castiel growls, his fists into balls.

* * *

Dean tosses around, groans at the invisible pain. Everything is heavy from his lungs, to his neck and his head. His blood pressure must be peaking if he’s dizzied despite lying on his bed. How many days have passed since then…? Two days…? No, four… four fucking days… it may even be a year. There’s a painful stab on his chest, his whole body is freezing. The floor itself doesn’t really present any promised warmth.

He’s realized he’s fallen on the bed.

He darts his eyes on the dark ceiling again, already familiar of the construction and the webbings above. Even the walls of his room are like a picture in his brain. Dean stares and keeps staring with blank eyes.

_Maybe… just maybe… he can…_

He closes his eyes. A surge of insurmountable voltage bolt hits his whole body and Dean’s eyes shoot open as he crumples his body in pain. He stifles a groan like what’s been doing for days. He feels dry and awful. He just wants to cry in a corner and then maybe die. But dying doesn’t usually click. He wonders if Cas will scold him in the afterlife. How can he die if he can’t even close his eyes? Then it struck him how many dead bodies he has seen in his lifetime of people dying with their eyes open.

A lump gets stuck in his throat. No one ought to die like that. Dean shakes. Maybe he deserved to die like that. A hollow suck up the remaining energy in his body, breaking his last resolved. He did not feel the cold touch of the floor until he’s crying warm tears on his cold cheeks.

Warm arms curl around his body.

“Dean.”

Dean runs his wet eyes on the canvas. Darkness is there but so are those enchanting blue eyes. He can see Castiel on top of him, sliding his arms underneath his limp form, cradling him, not letting go, looking very in control but those eyes say otherwise. Castiel, it seems, has made the decision to devour him.

“Cas, don’t. I don’t want you to getting stuck with whatever horrible fate I have, okay…? I’m no good for you…I-I’m sorry…” he must be delirious now. His doesn’t recognize that voice. His lips are painfully dry.

“I know how you think, Dean.” Castiel says carefully, cradling Dean in his arms as he carries him back on the bed. Dean settles his head on the crook of Castiel’s head and feels the first speck of clarity in his addled brain. The angel keeps him close, hands clasping tightly on his arms. “I also know you were never selfish enough to ask people to stay with you… even when you’re already in so much pain.”

Dean stifles a sob. He wonders if it’s his imagination, or Cas’ voice is a little rough on the edges and deeper. He doesn’t know. His eyes close and he cringes in pain. He blinks up painfully at the angel who’s peering in his eyes with sudden attention.

“Dean...?”

“It doesn’t come.” He confesses.

“What doesn’t?”

“The pain.” Dean says weakly, swallowing hard. It’s in an instant, but he understood why the pain is gone. It floods his eyes. “Cas…”

“What pain?” Castiel is looking all over him, hands caressing the hunter’s face in concern he has only shown in the close quarters of their room so overtly. “Dean?”

“I close my eyes…” Dean blinks with shallow breathes. The in his throat bobs up and down now that he’s saying it. “It doesn’t work…every time I do, it’ll just hit me like hundred needles… like… thunderbolts… keeping me awake. Won’t make me sleep.”

The hold on his arms tighten until it numbed Dean’s sensation. Then he figures, he doesn’t feel anything at all. His head rolls back on Castiel’s neck while the angel’s chest heaves.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Castiel’s hoarse voice comes closer, heavy and emotional. “Dean…”

Dean cracks his eyes open. Castiel expressing his concern is nothing new to him. And he doesn’t delight in making the angel worry at all. But the touch on his lips convinced him the angel is asking for him to open his eyes. Like the angel’s world would crumble if he didn’t.

Dean manages a small smile.

“I’m fine, Cas… you don’t—"

Castiel kisses him. Kisses him more. Those full chapped lips of his angel pressing down so savagely on his draught like mouth is heaven and oasis combined. He and Cas have kissed multiple times, but this one is different. Suddenly, the lights are all turning on and flickering in his head.

Is it because Castiel senses Dean dying? Dean hopes not. He has no plan to make his angel suffer like that. Even if he’s on his last lifeline, he’ll bring himself to life. So he kisses Cas with all the energy left in his deteriorating body. Giving Castiel that passion the angel has ignited inside him. Burning. Their tongues meet like deprived old lovers. It’s wet and messy and everything Dean wanted from Castiel. His heart flutters, it aches. He wants all of Cas. All of Cas now.

Greedily. He takes Cas’ lips greedily because the angel lets him. Cas has stopped being the aggressor, Dean taking the reins. He swipes his tongue inside Cas’ open mouth, feeling the angel’s soft lips atop his lips. Dean forgets everything. He roams his hands all over the angel’s body, picking on his buttons undoing them, his shoulder to remove the coat, everywhere he can touch. He’s been touch-starved enough. He finds the tie, loosens it, pulls it, then slips his hands inside the open button’s shirt, feeling Cas on his palms. Dean kisses him raucously and it’s all sweet. Castiel tastes sweet. Did he just eat strawberry pie? It’s all heightening Dean’s senses.

He pulls up, crumpling his hands on the angel’s tangled coat the hunter is now pulling down his shoulders. Green eyes flashing. He is _hungry._ So hungry.

_“Cas.”_

Castiel smiles but the angel is looking at the top of his head.

“The Mistletoe-”

Dean kisses him more. Doesn’t care if he nearly crushed their lips, it’s not the softest kiss he gave nor the slowest. It’s sloppy and breathtaking. Dean reaches for the angel’s jawline, tilting his head up so he can deepen it more. His heart is thundering on his chest when he rakes his hand down to open Castiel’s shirt.

 _“I want you.”_ He says huskily, pressing his tongue when Castiel attempts to reply. “

Dean bites on the hanging chapped lips, growling when Castiel pulls. Dean pushes Cas back on the bed and straddles him, green eyes wild and full of wanton. He takes one look at the angels glinting blue, before diving again on his and tasting him in.

It’s a hurricane. All flurry hurricane.

He growls hungrily and wraps both arms around the angel’s thick neck, driving deeper in the kiss. No primal instinct has made him desire the angel more.

Except, the sudden adrenaline starts to seep away and he’s slumping down the angel’s chest before he can understand what’s happening. Dean groans.

“Dean?” Castiel arches up, cradling him.

“Sucks…” Dean heaves tiredly, his fingers tightly clutching on Castiel’s pectorals, “Want you so bad…” he presses his lips on Castiel’s open chest. He can’t believe a time would come for him to be too tired for sex.

“I got you.” Castiel says, relaxing when he makes sure Dean is okay. Gently, he shifts their body so Dean is lying on the bed on his back. The hunter opens his eyes and sighs in relief when he sees the angel undressing. He licks his lips when all the layers go except for the pants. Why not the pants? He wishes he can see Castiel clearer but his gorgeous outline, body lit by his angelic grace is enough to take his breathe away. He’s sure Cas can see him fine.

“Cas!” he moans when the angel dips down. Castiel sucks on his neck, at the pulse point and just bites on the soft skin, lapping the spot with hot open mouth and suckling again. Dean presses back on the bed, but his hips is all arching to Castiel’s hips. Sadly, Cas is still kneeling so the space makes Dean cry.

They stay like that for a few moments, Castiel just marking his neck, shoulder, chest, but he doesn’t move anywhere else. Not even when Dean’s trying to pull down his waist impatiently.

“Dean.”

“Cas, I want you.” The laps of mouth on his neck and cheeks don’t stop. Castiel is indulging him except for one thing.

“I can’t.” Castiel says.

Dean sobs. He fucking sobs and it freezes the angel. Before he knows it, Castiel is cupping his wet cheeks and kissing his tears away.

“Dean…”

“I’m sorry…” Dean says, half growling, half whimpering. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I… I made them think I didn’t want you… I’m sorry… please take me, Cas…”

“Dean.” Cas injects so firmly, steady palms on the hunter and it gets Dean staring at him, “I’m not letting you go. You are wonderful, Dean Winchester… and it’s I who don’t deserve you. I don’t care what they think, I will always hear your call. You call me back then when you said no, you’re calling me now. But I’m not willing to make love to you when your body is this weak. I want you safe… I just want you to be okay.”

“But what if this curse never lifts?” Dean breathes out shakily. He imagines himself growing old beside Castiel who still looks the same. He pictured himself old and battered and with a friggin tree. He hisses when Castiel pulls up abruptly.

“Do you really doubt my feelings for you, Dean? That I’d be stopped by a singular root?” he askes when he starts kissing the hunter, wet and deep. “You are so beautiful, Dean. How can I not love you?”

“Cas—” Dean gasps at the intensity of the lips fully taking him. Castiel kisses his swollen lips like they are saying goodbye. Castiel kisses him, breathing forgot ten and part of a myth. Full of love. When they break free, Dean is sniffing with his eyes close, swallowing hard.

“Won’t you change your mind, Cas? Y’know…about…” he asks, a hand sliding on Castiel’s fly. In an instant, Castiel’s eyes darken.

“You must not think I have enough self-control for this Dean. You are terribly wrong. I’m barely holding myself out not to fuck you.” Saying so, Castiel’s free hand slams on the bulge on Dean’s pants. The hunter moans and unconsciously thrusts up. Castiel leans down and whispers on his ears, using the words Dean likes to hear. “ _I want to fuck you on this bed. On the wall. On the floor, mark you all over because they want to take you_ —”

“Who?”

Castiel grits his teeth.

“Cas?”

Castiel takes Dean’s lips to his own for the last time. Sweet and possessive.

“Let’s stop, Dean.” He says gravelly, forehead pressing on Dean’s temple.

“Or not.” Dean smiles wide, seeing the fire of lust in his angel.

“You’re tired.”

“Really not if you take the wheel.”

Castiel pulls his lips, biting on his bottom lip, then struggles for a second.

“I want to suck you.”

“Fuck, thought you’d never ask.” Dean inhales, helping Cas unbuckle and shimmy his pants until he’s spreading his legs for the angel. Castiel settles between his thighs, takes Dean’s cock on his hands. It’s as robust and hefty as he remembers. Dean spreads his legs more, mouth open and waiting.

Castiel sucks the head of Dean’s half hard groin. One hand holds the shaft steady as he bobs his head gently, the other covering Dean’s balls, applying gentle presses of his fingers. Dean breaths hard when Castiel swallows him whole after a few minutes of gentle suction.

 _“Oh, Cas… that mouth…”_ he squirms his ass deeper on the bed, flushed with arousal.

Castiel hums and continued his ministration. He flattens his tongue on the head of Dean’s cock, spread the bridle of come on the twitching rod, and then takes him whole to his throat again.

They’ve done this many times. It still feels their first time right now. Castiel marvels at the thought of how time is insignificant when he’s with Dean. Everything important is always at present. Beside Dean.

He sucks Dean harder. Dean’s eyes roll back to his skull, panting, his mouth hanging open and all his tiny moans received ardent sucking. It doesn’t end. The succession of strokes on his cock is derailing his mind. Dean’s breath hitches as he curls his hands on Castiel’s hair, fingers running through the soft strands. Tension building in his stomach as the angel’s hot mouth continue to undo him. And it’s Castiel. Fucking Castiel sucking him. Dean tugs the angel’s hair, then before long he’s guiding the angel to move faster. His cock swollen inside Castiel’s wet mouth. Dean moans and he warns Cas because the tumult is about to erupt.

“Don’t hold back.” Castiel says when he pulls, corner of lips slick, “I want you.”

The almost honest words combined with Dean staring at him from beneath his lust-blown green eyes gets the angel taking the throbbing member back in his mouth, moaning. Castiel sucks Dean for the ent time, licking the tip of the head and deepthroating him, burying his nose on Dean’s warmth and growling when Dean comes.

Shockwaves gets Dean writhing and thrusting forward, but Castiel holds his thighs firmly, pulling his lips a little so he’s only sucking at the tip, drinking Dean’s release. Dean’s lost his head somewhere around his first shoot, and then Castiel is gently sucking him again, taking the last spurt and kissing the tip of his cock.

They stay silent for a few moments of bliss. The afterglow hitting Dean more because in seconds, he’s fallen asleep.

“Sorry,” Dean grins sheepishly when he wakes up and found himself wrapped in the angel’s arms. Castiel is still naked and essentially pressed over Dean’s body, he can feel Castiel’s soft cock on his thighs, the angel’s knee on top of his own evening wood. It’s evening, isn’t it?

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel kisses the tip of his nose. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“Waking up with an angel beside me? Hardly gonna ever be worse.”

“Dean.” Castiel removes one hand on his cheek, then raises something between their eyes. It’s the mistletoe. Dean’s eyes widen in relief, wanting to say many things, but not knowing what and how. Yet, the way Castiel is smiling so affectionately at him is a testament of their connection.

“The kissed worked.” Castiel says with a small smile. The Mistletoe disappears on his hand, maybe even gone forever. Dean snakes his arms around the angel’s back, burrowing his nose deeper on the angel’s neck. Dean is shaking. Giggling.

“Dean?”

“If they told me it’s a kiss on the dick—” he laughs but stops shortly, feeling drained. Castiel kisses his temple as he gets on his elbow, preparing to slide out of bed, “Cas, Sam will kill himself if he finds out. I’m embarrassed for him and all our friends now.”

“There are some unfriendly visitors too.” Castiel finds himself saying.

“Yeah? Who?”

“Doesn’t matter.” The angel sits up, one hand still holding on to Dean’s arms, “I am not so inclined to your request to let those unwelcomed guests kiss your lips, much more get on your dick. I’d smite them had they tried harder.”

“Who are we talking about?”

Castiel deflects.

“Dean, here’s your robes. I think we just missed an hour of Christmas. You need to take care of your body.”

“Oh.” They both pull on their robes, Dean needing an arm around him because he’s still hungry. Castiel offered his grace but the hunter shakes his head. “Food will do it. Besides, when you told me you don’t care if I got a sprig up my head, makes me think it’s okay not to look my best. I’m kinda hot to you no matter what, right?”

Castiel smiles when they walk out to the corridor.

“Yes, you are. The vessel is a delightful bonus. But you are beautiful no matter. Still, I would rather you eat.” He kisses Dean lightly. “Let’s get you some food, Dean. I’ve exhausted you enough.”

“Oh, you can exhaust me anytime, Cas.”

* * *

They both arrive in the kitchen in their robes, holding hands and still throwing love bites on each other’s throat, earlobes, anything they can reach.

Sam clears his throat. Dean and Castiel stare up and sees Sam and the rest of their friends in there around the table overflowing with feast. Rowena raiser her glass of wine with a knowing wink. Donna chokes on her soda while Charlie gives Dean a thumbs up seeing the state of the two. Garth even whistles.

“The evil dick sprig is gone.” He says in shock.

“I’d disappear too if I get between them.” Donna grins meaningfully. “Poor Evil-Dick-Sprig.”

“Don’t call it that.” Dean grumbles.

“Glad Claire is with Alex by the library then.” Jody shakes her head, smirking from the table. “I mean, Sam did try rousing you two, but it seems you both really were busy _rousing_ each other?”’

“Stop it.” Sam mutters, eyes on the table, ears going red. Dean shakes his head.

“Timing, Sammy!”

It takes another hour before Dean is full. He jokes around Garth and the ladies, exchanging rolls of eyes with Claire. Castiel has changed to his trench coat by then and gives Claire his gift. Gifts were exchanged later on. When it comes to Castiel and Dean they both stop and stare at each other with round eyes.

“You didn’t buy each other gifts?” Charlie asks, holding a box of Lord of the Rings Tower with the _Eye_ Sam gave her.

“I didn’t buy anyone gifts.” Dean says quite irritably. He turns to Cas shyly. He knows what he is pulling on the angel. That puppy look has never failed him whenever he needs it. “Look, Cas—I—”

Castiel pulls Dean to his lap and buries his mouth on the hunter’s waiting lips. There’s no room for light kisses anymore. Yeah, puppy look can always get him laid.

There’s a chorus of grumbles and squeals, before everyone is making their exits on different directions. But when Dean begins cupping Cas’ ass, Sam’s holler is heard all over the Bunker.

_“Get a room!”_

* * *

It’s a day after Christmas when there’s an intrusive knock on the metal door again early in the morning. Castiel growls and crawls out of Dean’s bed, pulling his trench coat over his nude body and trudging his way up the stairs. He’s the only one capable enough to hear the knock anyway, even more get out of bed without feeling cold.

He opens the door and gets a flash of Ketch’s white teeth.

“Hello, Halo. Is Dean—?”

Castiel shuts the door on Ketch's face with a growl. 

**Author's Note:**

> *knocks on the door*  
> Don't smite me, Cas^^ Happy holidays!


End file.
